


Two Out of Millions

by hellorglory



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War (Movie), Dust Scene, Peter refers to Tony as dad, What-If, not actually related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 09:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellorglory/pseuds/hellorglory
Summary: What-If Tony was dusted instead of Peter?





	Two Out of Millions

**Author's Note:**

> I've been doing a lot of character analyses over on my Wattpad (blackcvrds) so here's a character study! I was really excited to be making it, so I hope you enjoy!

Tony stares at his teammates, all falling to the ground as dust. He had done everything in his power, it seemed like, yet he was still blaming himself. What had he done wrong? Could he ever fix this? His hands had fallen from their defensive position in defeat. He had disappointed everyone, and for what?

"Tony."

Tony turns his head, looking over his shoulder. Stephen Strange was sitting on a pile of rubble, slouching, and exhausted. His eyes looked like dusty marbles. He looked lost, but still with a glint of hope, he spoke up again. "Tony, there was no other way." His voice wavered, and then faded into nothingness, as his body did the same. His voice, trailing away, just as the ashes in the wind.

"Uh," another voice sounds behind him, and he turns to face it. He feels, as the more people he faces, dying, he is also facing his fears. Peter Quill is there, his eyes dashing around in disbelief as his own team disappears around him. Tony can't imagine how he is feeling. He only met these people today, and he feels like he's the one killing them. Quill, however, has known these creatures for years, and has grown close to them, as a family.

"Steady, Quill," he tells him, no emotion behind his voice. He fears that if he showed his true feelings all hope would be lost in their eyes. Quill seems to be coming to the realization that he, too, is fading away.

"Ah, man," Quill whines, his hands falling to his sides in exasperation, almost as if he is losing a game he has lost countless of times before. With the final fall of his arms to his hips, he turns to dust, the momentum twirling him into the sky quickly. He looked like he knew this was going to happen, almost relieved. If anything, he was hanging onto the fact that he would be with Gamora, as well as the rest of his team. Tony stares at the place Quill once stood. He could feel it before it even happened; it felt as if the wind was swaying through him, instead of blowing around. He felt cold, in his chest, like a ghost walking through him. A shiver ran up his spine, like a cat crawling over his grave. He wasn't prepared, but he was welcoming it. What else could he do? He has messed up so,  _so_  bad. If this was the only way, at least it was him. Staring at his fingertips dissolving, he swallows.

"Mr. Stark?" Tony turns around, holding his hands behind his back. He couldn't let the kid see him, not like this. This shouldn't be his last memory of him. "Mr. Stark? You don't look so good," Peter comments. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion and worry, his hands instinctively coming up as he stumbles around the debris to get to Tony. His nose crinkles as he notices Tony's shoulder, which is slowly falling apart, and he puts his hands there, trying to keep him intact.

"It's alright," Tony says, and he's not sure if he's saying it to comfort himself or Peter. He puts one hand on Peter's shoulder, the other at the kid's chest. Peter stares down at it, eyes widening in fear, gazing at the dust that's accumulating, almost sticking, to his chest.

"Mr. Stark?" His voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, fighting watery eyes. "No-no-no-no, no," Peter mumbles, gripping Tony's shoulders tightly. His hands roam Tony's body, squeezing his neck, his chest, trying to pull Tony closer, his hands covering the spots that are turning to dust, gripping and pulling and trying desperately to put Tony back together. "Mr. Stark, you gotta stay," Peter whimpers. Tony's legs begin to dissolve, now, and he falls to his knees, only being caught by Peter's arms as he collapses with him. 

"Peter. Peter, it's okay," Tony grunts, now in pain. Whether physical or mental, he isn't sure. "It's the only way," he repeats Stephen's words, hanging onto the hope that Peter will be okay, he  _needs_  him to be okay, he needs him to be _brave_. Peter looks confused, staring into Tony's eyes, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what Tony meant by that, so what is he meant to say? He is losing his idol, his hero, his teacher, his  _father_. Tony looks down at the ground, at the dust settling around where his calves used to be. He blinks a few times, then looks up. "I don't want to go. I don't want to go, Peter," he says, loud, as if he was realizing something extremely important. Peter is still dazed and confused and lost and  _scared_.  _So scared_.

"Mr. Stark, I don't want you to go either," he supplies, not sure what else there is to say. He begins to tear up, and this time he doesn't bother to close his eyes. Tony does, though. He doesn't want Peter to realize how terrible this is. He's never seen Tony cry in his life, and Tony isn't going to let him change that. He needs Peter to be brave for him. After a few moments, he tears his eyes open, staring up at Peter.

"I. I-I'm sorry."

He forces a crooked smile, a lump visible in his throat. His voice is cracked, croaky, and doesn't sound anything like him, but does at the same time, as if he has another alter ego he's only revealing now. His face crumples, literally, and Peter holds his breath as to not breathe in the sudden cloud of ash that surrounds him. His hands thump to the ground, which had so tightly held his mentor only seconds ago. He stares in disbelief. Seconds, minutes tick by. Finally, he twists around, hunched over, and grips his hair between his fingertips. He doesn't pull, but it stings, as he threads through the locks tightly. Finally, he lets tears spill on the ground, splashing, and dust begins to swim around the wet pools. 


End file.
